Rolling onto his side, Grak heaves with uncontrollable ferocity. Water rushes out, along with no small amount of blood. After a moment of this, he collapses again and returns to labored breathing. A little less labored now. He’s grateful for that.
“For a moment there, thought I mi—”
Realization hits again, and Grak sits up abruptly. He waits a moment for the rush in his head to settle, then looks about frantically.
“Lago?” His question is drowned out by the river’s noise.
He raises his voice. “Lago?” Still not loud enough.
“Lago!” It’s nearly a shout now, but Grak doesn’t care anymore; he just wants his friend back. “Lago!”
There, just a bit farther south, stuck in a thicket of rushes. He strains to listen. Yes. It’s faint, but Grak can hear the man’s unmistakable voice.
He does his best to ignore the full body ache, and stumbles in that direction, pausing regularly to steady his sight. It’s a curious, dizzy thing right now, his vision. It betrays him when he moves too quickly and entices him to rest when he moves too slowly.
After several moments of painful lurching, Grak pauses at the water’s edge, fearing the worst. His friend is stuck there, around eight feet out, and he’s completely silent now.
“Lago!” His voice cracks with emotion. “Hold on! I’m coming for you!”
Without another thought, Grak plunges in. Though he soon regrets the lack of planning. The water is too deep for him to stand, and the vegetation restricts all but the strongest of movements. But he can’t let that stop him. Not with his friend’s life on the line.
He forces his way through the rushes, pushing himself, exhausting every last bit of strength. Finally, he grabs hold of Lago, and a wave of relief washes over him. But they’re not safe yet.
Grak desperately pulls his way back to shore with one hand while dragging his friend along with the other. But this proves more challenging than he anticipated. While his entry cleared a return path, his strength is nearly gone, and the strain is all-consuming. And yet, somehow, he finds the energy. He presses on. And on. And on.
At last, Grak pulls Lago to shore, and they collapse together. Breathing is deep and labored, but thankfully, unencumbered. He lets himself relax on the wet ground, grass and mud and all. His eyes shut. Gently. Deeply. Sleep whispers to him.
But his thoughts fight back. The day’s memories flood in. The battle. The water shortage—or lack thereof. And Brak. Grak opens his eyes with a start.
That traitorous … wretched … bald-headed … bald-brained fool! He’ll get what’s coming to him. And then some!
His body aches as he rises to a seated position. “No time to rest, Lago. We’ve go—”
Grak’s heart sinks. Lago isn’t moving. He shakes the man, hoping to find him merely sleeping. But to his dismay, there’s no reaction. Too gentle, perhaps. He tries a little harder. Relief settles in.
Grak smiles. “You were starting to worry me there, friend.”
He chuckles. “Well, that was an unexpected bit of humor. But nice. Thank you. I needed a good laugh. Something to distract from all the pressures of late.”
Grak gently brushes mud from Lago’s cheek, careful not to tear any skin this time. “Look at you. You’re a mess!” He removes an assortment of moss and twigs from the man’s scalp. “You really must take better care of yourself, friend.” And several maggots from the left eye cavity. “I swear …” He shakes his head playfully. “If I weren’t around, you’d fall to pieces.”
Grak chuckles, but Lago’s lack of expression reminds him of their current difficulties. The pressures aren’t gone yet. In fact, there are more now. And they’re far too daunting to ignore. No. No escape from pressures for him.
Grak frowns at those thoughts. “Well, we’ve got work to do.” He checks his shadow. “Not much time left. No telling how long this Brak matter might take.” His demeanor grows grim. “And he’s just the first. Lot of people to kill before dark.”
He nods. “True. No harm in a few night killings, I suppose.”
He surveys the area around them. “Well, we managed to come up on the same side of the river, so that’s fortunate. Let’s hope things keep going our way. Shall we be off, then?”
Grak carefully rises to his feet. It’s a wobbly affair initially, but he eventually succeeds. Recognizing his friend’s difficulty in doing the same, he pulls the man up, then pauses for a moment to review the area.
He motions up to the trees. “Seems best to take the woods since we’re so pressed for time. The riverbank is too stony. And steep. Too slow that way.”
He nods, doing his best to provide comfort. “Absolutely. We’ll stay close to the water. Within sight at all times. Shouldn’t get lost again.”
Grak rolls his eyes at Lago in frustration. He’s growing tired of the incessant nagging. It seems to be getting worse the longer they wander. And the insults are becoming more obscene.
He takes a calming breath. “No, we already tried that way. I’m certain it’s this way.”
Grak tries not to take offense. “Look, I know how to get back to the river. I’m not a fool!”
His expression turns to indignation now. “Just who do you think you are? You’re my adviser. That’s all! I’m the leader! You’ll listen, and you’ll obey, or you’ll face the conse—”
Grak crouches, gazing intently at the movement up ahead. Although, if they heard him, they’d be reacting right now. After a careful moment of observation, he’s confident they didn’t. He turns to caution Lago, but finds no need; the man’s expression is stony and silent, even piercing.
Grak returns his focus to the humans moving about beyond the brush ahead. Squinting also reveals tents behind them. He can’t make out faces, but there’s no doubt in his mind: this is Kunthar’s camp.
He pulls Lago close and whispers, “No more playing around, friend. Complete silence from here on out. We’ll sneak wide around them, an—”
He turns to Lago in shock. “Why would you want to do that? No. Absolutely not. We can send someone to espy the camp later. There’s no reason for us to do—”
Grak tilts his head in thought. “Oh? You think? Hmm, well, perhaps you’re right. I suppose Jafra might be there.”
He ponders it for a moment longer. “Very well. We’ll look. But that’s all. And from a safe distance. If we don’t see her, we can’t risk trying anything more.”
They creep forward to the tree line, and Grak pauses, signaling for Lago to do the same. They’re close enough now—around nine paces from the camp perimeter—to see the situation clearly. Something seems off, though. The strangers are buzzing with movement. Even panic.
Perhaps they know something I don’t.
Grak carefully reviews the faces before him. “Well, I don’t see her.”
He grows apprehensive. “You think so? I suppose we could try to sneak in for a closer look. Given all the chaos, they might not notice.”
Grak shakes his head. “Mmm, no. I’m not comfortable with that suggestion.”
He rolls his eyes with an exaggerated sigh. “Alright, I’ll tell you what, if we spot a smaller one, then we’ll see about killing them along the way.”
He turns to Lago with a look of shock. “What? No! Not children! I’m not a monster! I meant someone short. Or skinny. But not wiry—that’s where I draw the line.”
He notices a particularly small fellow. “Like him. Not too young. Would probably fight us if he had the chance. And killing him now would help our tribe. A little. Or that wom—”
Grak freezes. Her face is more than just recognizable. It conjures old memories. Memories of love. And memories of loss.
He sighs something deep and despondent. “Groka,” he whispers.
He looks at Lago with dismay. “No! We can’t kill her!”
He takes a deep breath, attempting to control his rising anger. “Because I said so!”
Now Grak is furious. “Stop it, Lago! You’d best be careful, fri
end. I’ll admit, I like you, I do. And I appreciate your advice as well. But never forget who the leader is! If I say she lives, then she lives! Now silence!”
Lago gives no reply. Even his face is cold and expressionless, revealing nothing. Grak considers the man’s demeanor.
Sufficient, I suppose. For the time being. At least he’ll be subdued for a bit.
Satisfied, Grak returns his focus to the camp. And Groka. And—
He stifles a gasp. “How did we not see her sooner? Obvious brow and all.”
It’s true. She’s standing next to Groka, after all. And they’re not so far away, either. The two women are conversing together, no more than thirty paces from the perimeter.
A calm, steady rage consumes him. “Jafra! Now there’s one we could kill three times over. If you want blood, take that one.”
Grak turns in astonishment. “Oh, now you’re not talking to me? I swear, Lago, sometimes you’re such a whiner. This is our chance! Why bother trying to kill Groka when we can have Jafra? She’s all that matters. She’s the one who needs to die.”
Grak purses his lips with indignation. “Both? You want both? So you’re whiny and greedy? Well you don’t get everything you want! I’m telling you, Lago, I’m beginning to regret even saving your life back there at the river. Or taking you in and grooming you as my adviser. If arguments are all I get from you.”
He waves the man off. “Good! Go silent! I was about to tell you to do just that!”
Grak once again turns his focus to the camp. He’s furious now. At Jafra. And Lago. And even Groka, for coming between him and his friend.
Still, though. Lago should know better than to defy me like that. I hope this chastisement does him some good. Then maybe I won’t need to have the fool whipped.
Grak decides to ignore the man; he’s too upset at him in the moment. Instead, he turns his focus to the task at hand, busily surveying the camp’s layout. Yes, he’s fairly confident now: the current chaos should provide adequate cover to slip in unnoticed.
He considers his options, and a plan clicks an instant later. Before Grak can even examine its sensibility, his feet are moving, pulling him out of the trees and down the small slope. From there, he circles west around the perimeter. Aside from unavoidable stretches behind obstructions, he never takes his eyes off Jafra. In another moment, he reaches a spot with a direct line to her back. He pauses there and allows himself a silent chuckle.
She won’t even know what’s happening. Not until it’s too late.
Grak creeps forward, hardly bothering to soften his steps amid the chaos all around. He draws closer, passing several panicked individuals who pay him no mind. Closer. He reaches the tent where he spotted Jafra, and peers out from behind. She’s still there, talking in hushed and concerned tones with Groka.
Grak takes a moment to consider his current options.
Can I handle both of them at once? By myself? I can’t imagine Groka would stand aside and watch. She’d try to protect Jafra. After all, what do they care about a fair fight?
If only I had someone to fight by my side … If only I hadn’t left Lago behind. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so hard on the fellow. I mean, he was just trying to help. And he sure would come in handy right abou—
Grak turns in stunned silence. “Lago! You loyal fool,” he whispers while caressing the man’s cheek. “You followed the entire way!”
This brings a distinct comfort to Grak’s heart. Despite Lago’s previous transgressions, one thing is certain: he can always be counted on. Especially in a pinch.
Grak allows himself a few grateful tears. “I’m glad you came, friend. And not just because I could use the second person. I want you by my side. In everything.”
He takes another moment to gaze longingly at the man. Though it doesn’t last long. The burden of their task weighs on him, demanding immediate action.
Grak chokes back emotion and clears his throat. “Shall we, then? Two of them, two of us. Sounds like decent odds to me.”
He takes Lago’s silence as acquiescence. “Good. Now, Groka’s on the left. She’s yours.” He points a cautious finger at his friend. “To distract. Nothing more.”
He unsheathes Slicer. “And Jafra …” he says with a grin, “Jafra’s mine.”
He takes one last deep, steadying breath. Then he gives the signal.
Grak charges valiantly around the tent with Lago at his side. “For justiiiice!” he cries.
Then they’re on the enemy. Lago flails wildly to the left, while Grak reaches for the long hair to his right. She’s already whirling to face him, but it’s too late. He thrusts Slicer with all his weight, and the blade finds a convenient target between two ribs, lodging deep in the woman’s side. Only then does he realize the error.
Off to his left, Jafra freezes in shock. Before him, Groka grimaces. She looks up, into his eyes. Grak’s stomach sinks. He sees confusion in her. And pain. And betrayal. Mostly betrayal. Anxious to take it back, but unsure how, he pulls the weapon free, and she crumples to the ground.
“Groka!” screams Jafra, as if broken from a daze.
She rushes over to kneel at the other woman’s side. Removing her tunic, she presses it to the wound in desperation. But the cloth hardly helps. She pleads fervently … with Groka … with the wound … with the blood. But it’s still flowing. And far too rapidly.
Groka tilts her head toward Jafra, her neck straining at the effort. Her eyes wander, unable to focus, already fading. She attempts to speak. A weak gurgle is all she can manage. Then she’s gone.
Jafra goes silent, motionless. She’s stunned by this turn of events. A spark of comprehension lights in her eyes. It slowly grows. As does fear. Then it hits, all at once. Her lip trembles. Her eyes water. She erupts into uncontrollable sobbing, cradling Groka’s head and gently stroking it.
This continues for some time until Jafra seems to run out of energy. Her weeping slowly loses vigor, though only externally. All that strength seeps into the cracks, gathering inside, until her whole body begins to shudder. Periodically, a quiet, lonely whimper escapes. And in this moment, Grak feels more than he can take: sorrow … remorse … despair …
No, Grak. She deserved it. She did! That’s not the Groka you knew. This woman was a traitor. She turned on you. When you needed her the most. She tried to help Jafra take everything from you. She deserved it, Grak. She deserved it. She deserved it! And now …
“Now you know how it feels, Jafra!” Grak is barely aware of his own tears. “Now you know how it feels to lose something you love. Now perhaps we can call it even. Once you take your punishment fo—”
Jafra screams in pure agony and rage. In one swift motion, she stands, draws her ax, and lunges toward him. Her swings are wild, with no thought for form; she just wants him bleeding and dying.
Grak reacts almost as wildly, and somehow manages to deflect the blows, or at least avoid them. Though they are getting closer. One misses his chest as he leaps back at the last moment. Another whizzes just in front of his face as he ducks left in sheer terror. Another nicks his right forearm amid a clumsy block. Then it happens.
His foot catches on something, and he trips, dropping Slicer on impact. Jafra eagerly rounds the obstacle—a pile of firewood, as it turns out—and draws her ax overhead. But that’s just enough time.
Fear surges through Grak, and he reacts with a hard kick to Jafra’s stomach. Breath instantly abandons the woman, and she crashes into the firewood, losing her balance. Flailing about in a hopeless effort to keep her footing, she loses her weapon before finally toppling over onto her back.
Even in her dazed state, Jafra has enough sense to look around for the ax. Spotting the weapon, she tries to scramble toward it on all fours. But she isn’t quick enough.
Grak is already on his feet, Slicer in hand. He leaps in Jafra’s way and presses the blade’s point between her eyes. She freezes, staring at the weapon, contemplating her options. But realization hits: she has no options.
Jafra exhales in frustration and defeat. She looks up at Grak, her eyes cold and furious. And something else. Hurt. Yes, but more than that. Betrayal again.
She settles into a kneeling position as tears slowly form. “Why, Grak?” Her voice cracks. “Why do you hate me so much? I’m sorry about moth—”
“No!” Grak presses Slicer’s point to her throat, his voice full of rage. “You know the rules! You’re not allowed to call her that! She’s my mother!” He’s screaming something shrill now. “Not yours! You lost that privilege when you killed her! Or have you already forgotten?”
“I’m sorry, Grak! I am!” She’s weeping now. “I wish things had turned out differently. I do. And I’ll never forget. Even when I sleep, I’m reminded.
“But I’ve learned something. Since being away from the tribe. I’ve seen there was nothing else I could have done, Grak. I was just a baby. Newly born at that. I’m so sorry, Grak. I am. But I’m not at fault! No one is.
“Sometimes life just … happens. And sometimes it hurts, and we can’t stop it. We can’t control it, no matter how hard we try. And that hurts even more.
“But the pain you felt for her, Grak … feel for her … we all feel it. You’re not alone. She was my mother too, and I never even got to know her. So please, Grak … don’t take your pain out on me. For mother.”
Grak isn’t sure which aspect of that speech he hates most, but there’s a good chance it’s the glaring truth of her words that troubles him so. Or perhaps it’s the woman’s ability to state something so complex with such simple eloquence.
No, it’s the glaring truth of it all. Far more upsetting.
Grak looks at the ground, trying to avoid Jafra’s gaze. Her words echo mercilessly in his head, tugging at his heart. He’s managed to sidestep the issue for all these snows, but now it’s latching on and won’t let go.
He wants to stop. He really does. But he doesn’t know how. No, that’s not accurate. He doesn’t know what will happen if he stops. If he loses control.
He looks at Jafra again. She really does bear a resemblance. Down to the uneven eyebrows.
Things Grak Hates Page 31
